


Little Kitten

by Lepelael



Category: Fable 3 (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Finger Sucking, Master/Pet, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 12:03:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13030704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lepelael/pseuds/Lepelael
Summary: “Now, who's my good little kitten?”You had no idea how this started, this total seduction by Albion's most hated man. Reaver was deplorable, by every meaning of the word, and yet somehow he managed to still look devilishly attractive, ensnaring basically every woman he crossed paths with.





	Little Kitten

**Author's Note:**

> Hoooly shit this is nsfw as hell. Pwp/mindless sex and kinks
> 
> I do not own fable or any of the characters in it

_“Now, who's my good little kitten?”_

 

You had no idea how this started, this total seduction by Albion's most hated man. Reaver was deplorable, by every meaning of the word, and yet somehow he managed to still look devilishly attractive, ensnaring basically every woman he crossed paths with.

 

You had told yourself you wouldn't let him seduce you, but that resolve lasted about as long as a steak in a pack of balverines, especially once he set his sights specifically on you. After all, one does not simply turn down the most powerful man in Albion.

 

He was respectful of your first no, surprisingly, although he did dip his hand into the back of your dress, and murmured that he was a patient man. “I have all the time in the world,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear. “Feel free to seek me out when you change your mind.” Then he steadied your shaking hand that held the glass of champagne and sauntered off, leaving you red faced and shook to your core. Was it fear? Arousal? Both??

 

One thing echoed throughout your mind as the days went by, and that was his use of the word _if_ . Specifically, his lack thereof. ' _when_ you change your mind,’ he had said. What arrogance. How dare he, how dare he assume that a respectable lady like you would drop so low as to.. Drop…

 

_Fuck._

 

You couldn't get him out of your head now, this notorious man who owned half of Bowerstone. You started to go specifically to the pub in Bowerstone Industrial instead of the one in the Market, and Reaver noticed. Oh, he noticed, creeping closer and closer to you every day, until there came a day when his hand brushed yours in passing. He felt your flinch, knowing the spark that went up your spine all too well. He became more bold then, allowing himself a stroke of your arm or a grope of your arse, and you, every day, slowed your commute and _let_ him.

 

One day, when it had become almost too much to bear, however, he stopped. He didn't show up for days, and you began to wonder if he had been toying with you. You found yourself wanting him to come back and help himself to your body, becoming anxious and strung up. The day he came back, he was sat right at the table you always went to for your daily drink after work. You could feel your body trembling, like the string of a violin stretched far too taut, and his voice was the bow that made you snap.

 

“My, now don't you look all worked up,” he drawled, all eyes on you as Reaver, _the_ Reaver, finished his mug of whatever and stood, all six plus feet of himself, to caress your cheek.

 

“Where the hell were you?” A whisper, shaky, from the back of your throat. “It's been a week.”

 

“Has it?” His voice was low, eyes the colour of a cheap wedding ring boring into you from above. “I didn't realise I was under obligation to see you daily, my dear.”

 

You wanted to punch him, to spit at him or day something horrible, but the gleaming _Dragonstomper_ on his hip reminded you of his danger. You glared at him instead, and his thin lips stretched into a smile just a little too wide, a little too angular. He placed his left hand on your right shoulder and leaned in so that his lips were right next to your ear, his breath raising the hairs on your neck.

 

“Shall we do this here, or would you prefer something a little more.. _luxurious_?” When you didn't answer, he tutted and swiped his gloved thumb over your lip. “Well, when you change your mind,” When, again with the when, “I will be leaving for my manor at the top of the next hour.” He patted your shoulder then, straightening up and walking out, leaving everyone in the pub stunned.

 

You spent thirty minutes thinking over his offer. Twenty more was all it took for you to go to your home and change into the most provocative underclothes you owned and touch up your makeup. Five to walk to the carriage that was waiting for him and step inside.

 

“Mastah Wreava 'as gone ahead to 'is abode,” called the driver. Of course he had. Why would he wait the whole carriage ride to take her when she could simply show up, gift wrapped and ready for the taking to his home?

 

The ride to Millfields took just over thirty more minutes, just enough time to give you second thoughts but not long enough to make you act on them. The ginger with the lisp showed you inside, showed you to Reaver’s chambers, and immediately you were ushered inside and the door closed.

 

Oh, right.

 

That was how it had started.

 

“My, my,” he growled, “But you certainly took your sweet time to walk into my arms, _Cherie._ ” The hair on your neck rose, and just as easily, your dress began to slide down. “To be honest, I had my doubts that you would even agree to my offer, but I am pleased to see that my judgement was not misplaced.” A kiss on your neck, searing, and your knees wobbled. His presence in front of you like a flash, and suddenly you fell into him, steadying yourself on his form. His clothes smelled like a swamp. You wrinkled your nose.

 

“Take those off,” you mumbled, pushing away slightly. He chuckled, amused.

 

“Am I to have no fun in this victory?” His eyes raked over you, and the unspoken command was issued. He began to remove his layers, starting with his hat, followed by his coat, his vest. All the while his eyes remained locked onto yours, and he did not miss the blush as slowly, slowly you dropped your dress to the floor. The sight of your corset, the garter belts and stockings, made him hesitate for a moment. Only a moment.

 

You were on the bed then, Reaver’s mouth on your collarbone. All the breath had been pushed out of you, and you gasped for it like a fish out of water. He seared your lips with a kiss, haphazardly kicking off his boots and grabbing himself a handful of your chest. “Do you wear these sort of things frequently?” he teased, his free hand having slipped down to your core when you hadn't noticed. He drank in your gasps and sighs as he found and massaged the bundle of nerves he knew would take you to heaven. “No? Well, then I must assume you put them on just for me.” He bit your lip then, swallowing the whine you made when he twisted his fingers just so in your breast. “And really, I do love it when things turn out to be all about _me_.”

 

Reaver brought you to the point of breaking, loosening the corset and yet never removing it, teasing you with his fingers and yet never removing his pants, until tears were leaking from your eyes and you were practically begging him to take you.

 

But practically wasn't good enough.

 

“Pose for me,” he commanded, leering at you as he watched your expression go from arousal to confusion, to anger and indignance. “Oh, _Cherie,_ don't make that face at me.” Gently, he gripped your wrists, lifting them above your head and placing them on either side of the train of hair splayed across his pillow. You turned your head to the side, bearing the pale, bare side of your neck to him. He seized the opportunity to fluster you then, kissing all the way up your pulse and biting where he knew you could not cover it. You moved your hand to tangle it in his hair, and he pinched your breast in an unspoken warning.

 

One finger.

 

He teased your panties aside, the thick fabric of his gloves providing a unique friction to your tortured clit before he inserted a single finger. You gripped the sheets beneath your hands, and he began to pump, in and out, steadily, until he had you squirming and writhing, begging for more with your body.

 

Two fingers.

 

When he added the second, he relished the way your eyes rolled back into your head. He captured the sigh of ecstasy that left your lips when he thumbed your clit, curling them within you while his mouth found its way to your right nipple.

 

Three fingers.

 

You nearly screamed out when he added the third, his pace nearly godlike now. Your face reddened from the sounds you were making, both vocally and not, and in a flash he had your left leg over his shoulder. He twisted his fingers, and you squealed, black streaks running down your cheeks from the tears of ecstasy. Somehow mustering your breath, you gasped out a please, the end of it tapering into a mewl as he shoved all three fingers as far as they would go.

 

“What was that, _Cherie?_ ”

 

“Pah.. please,” you rasped.

 

“Please, what? I can't very well understand if you don't tell me what you-”

 

“Reaver, for the love of God please fuck me!”

 

And you had said it.

 

“Now, there's a good girl,” he purred, withdrawing his fingers. At first you whined, but quickly you were shushed by his fingers in your mouth, flushing as you tasted only yourself on the thick material, each digit rubbing and massaging your tongue while he, quite literally singlehandedly, removed his pants and rolled on a condom. One could never be too careful, after all.

 

He began to push in, your leg still over his shoulder, making sure his fingers ensured every single sound you made came free of your throat. It didn't hurt, surprisingly, and he took his time with you, to both your relief and dismay. Once he was completely in, he waited for you to adjust, pulling out at the smallest buck of your hips and then beginning his assault on your body.

 

One leg draped over his shoulder and the other twisted to pull him closer, Reaver grinned at the pure arousal that had written itself over your face. He went fully inside with every thrust, watching your flush creep down to your chest and briefly wondering what you would look like decorated with his cum. The thought spurred him on even harder, and his hand in your mouth moved down to gently, gently squeeze the sides of your neck. The lack of blood to your head gave you a rush, and he felt you clamp around him in response. “Oh, does the good girl like that? Does my little kitten like it when her master chokes her like the slut she is?”

 

You had little choice but to nod, and at this point the words he said made little difference to you anyway. You could barely hear them over your heart pounding in your ears and the sound of skin on skin as he pounded into you. His left hand went to your hip, his thumb teasing your clitoris and pressing down on the nub. He could see you getting close, arching for your release, and just as you began to crest over the edge of your climax, he stopped, pulling out entirely. You whined and cried, trying and failing to get just that littlest bit of friction to finalise the act. Reaver, instead, flipped you over, one hand caressing your ass while the other kept your face pinned into his sheets.

 

“Now, who's my good little kitten?” he purred, allowing a moan as his dick slid between the soft flesh of your ass

 

“Me,” you gasped, whining and clawing at the sheets. “Me, me, I'm your good kitten, I'm a good girl! Please, oh please, God, Reaver!”

 

Reaver chuckled at your pleas, fisting his hand in your hair and pulling you back. His dick throbbed against your dripping core, and slowly he began to grind into you, taking note of the way you trembled. “What do you want, kitten? Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you..”

 

“Fuck me.” Your answer was immediate, unashamed. “Please, Reaver, I want you to fuck me until I see stars and black out-ah!”

 

Reaver could barely suppress his satisfaction, straddling your thighs from behind and plowing into you with your hair as anchorage. “Oh, good girl,” he growled, biting your neck, your shoulder, anywhere his teeth could find purchase to mark. He was going to show the whole of Albion that you belonged to him and only him. Your release came quickly, and this time he did not interrupt it, instead rubbing your clit while the pressure of his straddling kept your legs spread for him. The more you squealed, the harder he rubbed, until he lifted you once more to flip you over. As your eyes began to close, he withdrew, biting your jaw as he stripped off the condom and finished himself off all over your stomach and chest.

 

You collapsed then, spent and exhausted on his bed, and Reaver collected his breath as your eyes fluttered shut. “We’ll have to find a way to utilize that pretty little mouth of yours,” he mumbled, squishing your cheeks lightly. He smiled then, swiping a thumb over your bottom lip.

 

Well, at least he no longer had to wonder.


End file.
